When I ask, "How are you a pile of dust?"
"I just am," she says," I am truly just a pile of dust!" She says this with a smile.
Age seven is a very random age, I think. I could be sitting down drinking coffee and reading a novel and my daughter could approach me and sing out of the blue, at the top of her lungs, "We can change the world, together!" She always has a look of glee on her face.
And on another note, I know I have been all tough in the past and have gone and fixed things and battled the underground, but for some reason this year I am dreading going into the crawl space where I saw all those spider eggs this past spring, waiting to hatch. I thought all summer how I should have brought some Raid down there with me and sprayed it all down, just while I was down there, you know, turning the water on. Now I have to turn it off, and I just don't want to deal with spiders. I really hate them. I told the Professor I was not looking forward to it, hoping he would gird his loins and be a cowboy just for me.
"Rach, we can just hire someone," he said.
Here we go again. Hire someone.
Hey, I'll pay you thirty bucks if you go down into my crawl space and turn the water off.
I just can't have that. So---I guess I will do it. I will bring Raid and a few sticks. The sticks in case I run into a few snakes, which I am not too afraid of. Just the spiders. Do you think sticks would help me? I don't know. I blame it all on Shelob.
I am a wimp and I have been forced to turn into a nag. A nag. From this time forth I am going to be rewarded with the deeds of getting on my Oldest's back about the dishes. Every time I order it he acts surprised. Just now I remembered. I have called the order just now. The response?
"Dishes?!" The incredulousness! (spell check is saying that is not a word. Hmm.)
I should try that out at lunch time and wait until two o'clock when they are all grabbing their bellies in hunger. "I want lunch mom," the Oldest would say. In fact, he would have said it at eleven o'clock, what am I thinking. That boy loves to eat.
"Lunch?! What???!!! You expect me to make you lunch? Why ever would you think that?! I'm sick of making lunch, I ain't got no food, so go catch a squirrel and eat it."
This would be expected of a kid who has stood and eaten a truffle I have handed him and declared after one nibble, "Scandalous!"
6 comments:
How about "incredulousity." That should be a word, too. The state of incredulousness. Incredulousity.
K takes his breakfast dishes and decidedly plunks them on the counter directly above the EMPTY dishwasher and when I point to the dishwasher to inspire him to put the dirty dishes IN the dishwasher he says, "what?????" Total incredulousity.
Your daughter is such a kick! The things she says.
You need a spider protection suit. Put on a hooded sweatshirt, tie it tightly around your neck so nothing can crawl into your hair or down your shirt. Wear gloves, goggles, longs socks with your pants tucked into them, and you should be good to go. The neighbors will get a kick out of it too. It could double as a Halloween costume!
Just think....If you spent the 30 dollars, you would not have the whole experience to blog about and we would be bored!
We are trying to get the kids in the habit of doing the dishes after dinner, but it is usually ME who needs to be reminded.
I don't mind spiders. Except in my hair. I'd wear a hat. Maybe a mask. Then I am all good.
i have the hardest tiem getting my kids to eat. Today for lunch, I took leftover chicken, cheese, cilantro and wrapped it up in a corn tortilla. Microwave for 30 secs and voila... the best lunch they ever had. At least for today!
I'm not the greatest fan of spiders, but you've got me beat in the bravery-around-snakes department.
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